_Cle._ I see no enemy near; and yet I tremble Like a pale coward: my sad doom pronounc'd By this aerial voice, as in a glass Shews me my death in its most dreadfull shape. What rampire can my humane frailty raise Against the assault of fate? I do begin To fear my self, my inward strengths forsake me, I must call out for help. Within there? haste, And break in to my rescue. _Enter_ Dorilaus, Calista, Olinda, Beronte, Alcidon, _Servants, and_ Clarinda, _at several doors._ _Dor._ Rescue? where? shew me your danger. _Cal._ I will interpose My loyall breast between you and all hazard. _Ber._ Your Brothers Sword secures you. _Alci._ A true friend will dye in your defence. _Clean._ I thank ye, To all my thanks. Encompass'd thus with friends How can I fear? and yet I do, I am wounded, Mortally wounded: nay it is within, I am hurt in my minde: One word-- _Dor._ A thousand. _Cle._ I shall not live to speak so many to you. _Dor._ Why? what forbids you? _Cle._ But even now the spirit Of my dead Host appear'd, and told me, that This night I should be with him: did you not meet it? It went out at that door. _Dor._ A vain _Chimera_ Of your imagination: can you think Mine Host would not as well have spoke to me now, As he did in the Inn? these waking dreams Not alone trouble you, but strike a strange Distraction in your Family: see the tears Of my poor Daughter, fair _Olinda's_ sadness, Your Brothers, and your friends grief, servants sorrow. Good Son bear up, you have many years to live A comfort to us all: let's in to supper; Ghosts never walk till after mid-night, if I may believe my Grannam. We will wash These thoughts away with Wine, spight of Hobgoblins. _Cle._ You reprehend me justly: gentle Madam, And all the rest, forgive me, I'le endeavour To be merry with you. _Dor._ That's well said. _Beron._ I have procur'd your pardon. _Cal._ Once more I receive you Into my service: but take especial care You fall no further. _Clar._ Never Madam: Sir, When you shall find fit time to call me to it, I will make good what I have said. _Ber._ Till when, upon your life be silent. _Dor._ We will have a health unto _Lisander._ _Cle._ His name, Sir, Somewhat revives me; but his sight would cure me. How ever let's to supper. _Olin._ Would _Clarange_ And _Lidian_ were here too, as they should be, If wishes cou'd prevail. _Cal._ They are fruitless, Madam. [_Ex._ _Enter_ Leon.